


Swallowing Darkness

by Cristinuke



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anger, Angst, Because these boys excel in, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), References to Depression, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-17 19:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke/pseuds/Cristinuke
Summary: When Bucky is unfrozen for the last time, he's delighted to find himself in a brave new world with a brave old friend. That delight begins to dwindle when he starts to notice Steve seems to be struggling.





	Swallowing Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for the 2018 Cap RBB! I had a lot of fun writing it and collaborating with so many to have this come together.
> 
> The art was created by the talented [DrowningByDegrees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/pseuds/DrowningByDegrees-Art). Go check out her other art!
> 
> The story was edited by the ever-patient and supportive bbyarn. Thank you so much!

 

He always remembered this part. No matter what was stolen from him, he could never forget this part.

He always remembered the searing pain that burned his body as his blood warmed up again, starting its usual journey again once the ice thawed enough. The way his veins screamed and his organs groaned all at once in a cacophony of pure agony, each pulse of his heart beat sending waves of endless waves that raged against him. The pins and needles that felt more like heated rods and razors on his skin and finally, the first breath of air that tasted of fear, hurt, and ice.

He knew what followed, knew that rough hands would grab him, searing on his newly awakened skin, and would push him, shove him, hurt him. He would be dragged by careless, harsh men, and they would make him go to the chair.

The chair.

Fuck, the chair. It was always the _chair_.

The terror that the memory instilled gave him another jolt of adrenaline he didn’t want. He wanted to go back to sleep, go back to death, get _away_. Anything but have to endure that agony again and again and _again._ Waking up wasn’t nearly as dreaded as the chair.

He didn’t want it.

It didn’t matter what he wanted. He’d learned that lesson years ago.

He’d learned it _thoroughly._

But when the hands finally came, it wasn’t what he expected. Not even an echo of those bruising holds touched him. It was…it was….it was—

It was _soft_.

But that didn’t make sense?

Nothing _soft_ ever happened to him.

And yet, here he was, receiving touches that were so goddamn gentle that his eyes burned in a way entirely different from his usual wake up. He wanted to open his eyes and see, wanted to see what could possibly be the source of this painless encounter. He wanted to rub the ice from his eyelashes and _see_.

But confusion and fear wouldn’t have let him anyway.

The confusion only grew when those hands touched more, skimming across skin and brushing away flakes of cold, leaving behind wet streaks of melted ice on his skin.

Finally, sound started to creep in, his ears prickling with heat and stimulation. At first, it was just whispers of noise— a rumble of a voice, distant chatter, a steady beeping that happened to match up with the harsh pounding of his heart against his chest. And then the voice started to take shape, a familiar cadence he knew deep down in his bones. A pitch he memorized by heart.

“Bucky? You’re alright, just take it easy.”

That name. He recognized it. Or at least he thought he did. The more he tried to dig into that memory, the hazier it got, so he simply let the words drift over him, wash through him. They embedded themselves in his brain, the warm embrace of them so different from what he knew was supposed to come. He wanted to lean into them, seek out the warmth that he knew should follow that voice. Shy away from the cold, and shed this wall that kept him down.

“Breathe, Buck, that’s it. I’ve got you.” Hands, those hands, so warm, so strong. They wrapped themselves securely around him, supporting him, and suddenly the world tilted dangerously, his entire balance thrown off. But he didn’t fall. He shifted and suddenly he didn’t have to worry about waking his feet up in time to find the floor because his weight had been taken from him.

Instead, he was being carried. Not dragged. Not pushed. Not shoved. Not thrown.

 _Carried_.

Held close to a warm mass that spoke of strength and protectiveness.

Held like something precious.

It didn’t make sense.

And yet that voice followed him, so close now, in his ears, growing clearer.

“Take your time. Just relax, I’m here.”

There was movement, and then he was being put down carefully. The landing was soft and cushioned, and more luxury than he had ever been afforded before, and yet he didn’t want those hands to go. He didn’t want the chill to engulf him again.

A sharp whine startled him, and he didn’t realize the noise had come from his own throat until that voice was shushing him, saying, “I know, I know. I’m not going anywhere, just breathe.”

He held onto that promise, and when it came true, he wanted to cry in relief. The hands never left him. In fact, they moved again, rubbing up and down on shivering skin as he started to think more clearly.

Automatically, he began to catalogue himself, noting every ache and scrape of cold still burning throughout his body, making him shake uncontrollably. His face was still numb, as were his hands and feet, but slowly, so slowly, he could start to move his limbs. They were indistinguishable from twitches at first, but then they grew more purposeful.

He then registered the dry burn of his throat, and finally realized it wasn’t completely from the cold, but from his harsh panting. Each gasp still razor sharp, but slowly diminishing as the air turned warmer and humid.

Those hands, those _familiar hands, why were they so familiar?_ They never left him, always skirting from place to place as open palms massaged deeply into thawing muscle. It hurt, _god did it hurt_ but he infinitely preferred this slow journey of awareness and return to himself over the agonizing snap to wakefulness he remembered. Every thought was starting to form into coherence and his confusion was slipping away. He was coming back to himself in his own time, and the novelty of it was absolutely overwhelming.

Finally, his eyelids fluttered, no longer glued stuck together with frost. His vision was blurry at first despite the blinking. He wasn’t blinded by harsh florescent, but rather was graced with a soft glow, helping him to adjust. Colors slowly turned into shapes slowly turned into defined details. As the world came into focus, he looked to his side and felt a tidal wave of emotion crash into him when he finally recognized what he saw.

 _Steve_.

Of course. It was always Steve. It always _had_ been Steve.

The voice, guiding him from hell. The warmth, chasing away the chill. The hands, comforting and worshipping.

“Hey there.” Steve smiled down at him, his voice so soft, as if not to startle him.

Instinctively, he reached out for Steve. Or at least, he tried to; his arms were so heavy. Wait, no, his _arm_. His left was gone. Something had happened…he’d had it and then… There had been a fight? He’d been found, and then he’d been caught. Snow. So much snow again. He hated the snow.

It was so hard to remember. All of his memories, the ones he was allowed to keep, were all out of order.

Steve seemed to catch on rather quickly to what he wanted though, and was immediately there, intertwining his fingers with his. He could almost feel Steve’s thumb rubbing back and forth against his hand.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but his throat clicked around air, a garble of breathless sounds replacing the words he wanted to speak.

“Easy, just wait. Gotta finish warming you up, yeah?” Steve smiled again, and he had to look away against another onslaught of emotion that rose up.

He noticed then that he was covered in brightly colored blankets with intricate designs on them. One of them was completely soaked through, but then Steve wordlessly tugged it off and replaced it with an equally colorful blanket. The warmth afforded by the blankets were helping him fight the shivers his body was wracked with, but it still wasn’t enough.

When he looked back at Steve, he meant to tell him, but again, nothing but meaningless nonsense came out. So instead he tried to convey it through his one hand, tried to squeeze and pull and beg Steve to understand how adrift in the cold he still was. How he yearned for the warmth that was just out of his reach. The warmth that he knew Steve could somehow give him if only he could ask.

For the first time he could remember in his jagged memory, his prayers were granted, and Steve quietly shushed him again, “Yeah, okay, I’ve got you. Hold on.”

Steve released his hold on his hand, and the loss made him whine, a harsh cry to his own ears, but Steve simply kept up gentle platitudes as he rearranged himself to be suddenly tucked up against him.

This was emphatically better, having Steve wrapped around him. He could feel the warmth emanating from Steve’s body, and he nearly felt heady with the sheer magnitude of it. His shivering started to taper off, each chill relaxing and letting him breathe deeper until his lungs eased from overworked tension to a background ache. Feeling began to creep into his extremities and his first course of action was to clutch onto Steve.

Steve chuckled, the sound low and comforting, and he could feel it reverberate against his own chest. It crossed his mind that Steve was wrapped around him like this, sharing his own body heat, despite how cold it must be for him.

He didn’t want to burden Steve, not like this, but he couldn’t help but curl in closer, his mind sorting itself out as he grew alert. He was exhausted, but now he could note the clean lines of the white room he was in, the advanced technology that surrounded him, proclaiming to be a medical facility. The thought should have terrified him, but a memory helpfully provided him with the image of a lush jungle turning into the most beautiful city he’d ever seen.

He was safe here. Wakanda. They were helping him. They had frozen him, but he’d wanted it. Why had he wanted it?

His thoughts turned static again, and he let them, knowing that they wouldn’t be secret for long. They’d come to him sooner or later.

“You with me, Bucky?” Steve’s voice slipped into his attention, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts.

 _Bucky_.

Right. That was his name. He knew that. He’d had a few different names, but this was the one that mattered the most. The one he’d wanted back. The one Steve had given him back.

He looked at Steve, and his memories suddenly stopped slouching from molasses to pick up the pace in a forward motion.

The rooftop.

The bridge.

Jersey.

Vienna.

Brooklyn.

The airport.

Germany.

The docks.

Siberia.

Wakanda.

Fragments, all of them. The older memories he could pick out though, remembering them as if through a screen door during a rainstorm. The more recent ones were sharper, clearer, fresh.

They weren’t all there, but he now had a better sense of what was going on. At least as much as he knew nowadays.

What was nowadays anyway?

“You…haven’t. Shaved.” Each breath felt much too laborious to be worth it, but when Steve grinned, accentuating his stubble, Bucky knew it was fine. He didn’t care if his voice cracked on every other syllable.

“I’ve been a little busy lately.” Steve responded so nonchalantly. It tugged a hard smile out of Bucky, and he knew they’d figure this out. They always did.

He was so preoccupied with waking up that he completely missed the stress lines on Steve’s face that weren’t there before.

*

The triggers were gone. At least, that’s what Steve told him. What the doctors told him. What Shuri told him.

“I wish we could have done it sooner, Sergeant Barnes. It was tricky, you see— I won’t bore you with the details— but we had to essentially reboot your brain back to its original factory settings if you will. Turning it off and on again.”

Bucky didn’t really know what she was talking about, but he liked her anyway. She reminded him a lot of his sister, even if he couldn’t remember her name at the moment.

“You don’t understand how much I am grateful to you, your Highness.” Bucky sat still as Shuri worked around the workspace, looking between holograms and Bucky. It was soothing, to not have all the attention on him. He wondered if she somehow knew that or if that was just how she worked.

“Please, call me Shuri. ‘Your Highness’ is reserved for my broth-” She cut herself short, and Bucky looked up in time to see her eyebrows pull together into a slight frown. “I guess he gets a different title now.” Her voice got quieter, and Bucky felt another wave of guilt wash over him, this time knowing exactly why.

“Shuri, I’m. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Bucky didn’t know what else to say. How did someone comfort the relative of a murder victim they were framed for? He pulled off a piece of lint off of the blanket tucked around his missing shoulder, fidgeting.

Shuri breathed in deeply and then waved her arms, making all the holograms disappear. Pulling on a smile on her face, she faced Bucky. “We’re setting up a place for you and Captain Rogers to stay in for the time being, until we can finish renovating the east wing of the Palace. Until then, you’re free to do what you’d like. You can treat yourself to however much food you want!”

Her smile was warm, and she looked earnest as she gestured towards the door. Bucky couldn’t help but smile back, her invitation appealing.

As if summoned, Steve appeared at the door, his face breaking out into a grin the moment he saw Bucky.

“Hey, Buck.” He breathed out, a touch of awe and surprise coloring his voice. “Everything go okay?”

Shuri answered, “Sergeant Barnes is healthy and his brain is functioning normally.”

“Well that’s new, then.” Steve winked at Shuri, “Bucky’s brain has never functioned normally.”

That startled a laugh out of Bucky, and he was eternally grateful that Steve could make light of the situation, even a little bit.

After that, Shuri ushered them out of her temporary lab, urging them to go explore and promising that she’d find them later to talk more with Bucky about his arm.

Bucky couldn’t help grinning as he walked alongside Steve.

*

Wakanda was incredible. Absolutely incredible.

They had spent the day out in the city, both of them completely overwhelmed with the sights and sounds and smells and people.

They had walked through the halls of the Palace, and Bucky was again overwhelmed. He was still trying to come to terms with the fact that this was T’Challa’s home, and that he was welcomed here. A guest. He knew that, could remember fragments of the flight coming here, and of being surrounded by doctors that didn’t look like any of the doctors he’d come to know, and Shuri promising to help him.

T’Challa, who had been trying to kill him. And then had stopped. Why had he stopped?

His memories were still fuzzy, and some were completely locked down, but he had long stopped trying to decipher them past the occasional poke, like a tongue naturally pushing into the empty space a tooth left behind.

Steve helped fill in the gaps when he could.

Now, though. Now they simply were taking in everything. They were doing their own tour, laughing like little kids when they found themselves lost, and a helpful staff pointed them in the right direction.

Their wandering included a short ride to a destination called The Great Mound, which sounded familiar to Bucky.

“It’s where Shuri’s labs were, the first time we were here.” Steve informed him, his face scrunching up in concentration as he tried to piece everything together. “I think she wanted you to wake up in the Palace, but this place is where they mine for vibranium.”

Bucky was interested in seeing the mines, and was surprised by how many detours they had to take. Apparently they were renovating a lot of floors.

They came to a stop when they found an empty hallway.

“Apparently, the train is magnetic. It’s amazing.” Steve said quietly, the awe coloring his tone. They both looked out of the enormous windows that overlooked an expanse of elaborate technological mazes. They watched as everything was in constant movement, coming and going and flying to their destinations. Everything had a purpose here. Everything was clean and wanted, and meant for so much more.

“It’s like the science fairs we’d go to.” Bucky shared, old memories trickling in. He knew sharing them made Steve happy. This little piece of evidence that proved he was still the old friend Steve had back in the old days. Even if he wasn’t really the same.

“Yeah, but real. Everything is real. I keep forgetting sometimes.” A hint of something dark made Bucky glance towards Steve, but his face betrayed nothing as he kept looking out, a small tug of a smile curling at his lips.

Bucky hesitated a moment before saying, “Well, we made it to the future. Somehow.”

Steve met his gaze, and his expression shuttered for a moment before smoothing out again. “Somehow.” He echoed.

There was something there, something that needed to be said, and Bucky knew he had to say it, but he didn’t know it. His mind was coming up static, and despite the urge to _say something_ , he was at a loss for words. He didn’t like this new feeling, of coming up empty handed, and he knew if he could just remember something, some piece of the puzzle, then it would all make sense.

The moment stretched, his window closing too fast, and Bucky opened his mouth to try and salvage it, but nothing came out. The moment died when both of them were distracted by voices coming from down the hall.

Steve gave a dry chuckle and then shook his head. “Wanna keep exploring?”

Bucky glanced at him, and saw the mischievous glint in Steve’s eyes, the one that promised trouble. It was so like the one from when they were kids that Bucky was hit with a wave of nostalgia that he was starting to get used to, the more time he spent with Steve.

“Yeah. This place is amazing.”

Bucky took one last look at the labyrinth beyond the window, and then turned to follow Steve as he made his way down the hallway. As they walked down, Bucky kept sneaking glances at Steve, trying to figure out what it was that he was missing. He didn’t know if it was the uptick of his mouth— now covered in scraggly hair that Bucky found he liked— or the slight crease between his eyebrows, or something else entirely. All he knew was that there seemed to be something off about him, but he just couldn’t quite place it. He knew it was probably nothing, and as soon as he remembered the missing piece, everything would be okay again.

As they turned a corner, he decided to put it down to that he was still getting his bearings in yet another new environment for which he had to learn new rules. He felt like a giant walking jigsaw puzzle with many missing pieces, not just this one. Eventually he’d put them all back together.

He was distracted by his thoughts, blindly following Steve, when they turned another corner and nearly ran into a couple of people.

“Excuse me—”

“Pardon me—”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see—”

Steve and Bucky snapped their mouths closed in unison when they realized who they’d nearly run into.

“Ross.” Steve’s tone was flat and hard and he suddenly shifted his balance into a defensive stance, putting himself in between Ross and Bucky. Bucky, similarly, was immediately tensed, and his fight-or-flight adrenaline was suddenly pumping into overdrive. He felt the ghost of where the metal plates on his arm should have been shifting— now empty space, useless and defenseless.

The rushing in his ears almost drowned out Ross’ answering, “Captain,” and when he turned to face Bucky and said only, “Sergeant,” Bucky’s brain glitched for a moment, confusion nearly eclipsing the thought of an impending fight. 

Bucky almost bolted, and Steve nearly made to strike when Ross brought both his hands up, but they were clearly defenseless and placating. The peaceful sign just barely held both of them in place, but it wasn’t until the other person with Ross started talking that everyone backed down marginally.

“Calm down, it’s relaxation, chill out. Stop screaming.”

The three men looked to the right of Ross, where Shuri stood, one hand propped on her hips while she looked almost annoyed at the sight in front of her. Bucky couldn’t help a twitch of a smile and forced himself to relax when he realized that this wasn’t going to turn into a fight. He still had no clue what was going on, but he figured there was going to be an explanation coming soon.

“Princess.” Steve greeted, completely serious. Bucky raised an eyebrow, and Shuri winked at him before facing Steve.

“Captain, how many times have I told you, you can call me Shuri.” She smiled brightly at him.

“And how many times have I told you, you can call me Steve?” He smiled warmly at her, despite his uneasy glance towards Ross.

Shuri rolled her eyes at the obvious nervousness between the men, and shooed them away, saying, “You boys go and relax. Ross will explain everything. Nobody’s shooting, dying, or getting jailed today. Sergeant, when you’re done, come see me in my new lab. It’s just three floors up from here. I want to show you my schematics for a new arm.” She narrowed her eyes. “A _better_ arm. Not that Soviet crap you were lugging around.”

Bucky loved her manner of bluntness, but when she flicked her fingers in a lazy salute and left them there alone in the hallway, he desperately wanted her buffer back when he realized Ross’ attention was solely on him.

“I believe we have some catching up to do.” Ross said fairly pleasantly. “I think we should sit down to talk.” He gestured for Steve and Bucky to follow him back the way he’d come from. He glanced sideways at Steve who just shrugged and started after Ross.

Ross led them to a lounge off the side of the hallway. For a moment they were all silent, looking out the huge glass window that overlooked the lush green of the jungle.

Finally, Ross cleared his throat, and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “I understand you’ve been asleep for a while, Sergeant. And the Captain’s only recently returned from his, ah. Um, his _mission_.”

Bucky had to fight from smirking, because they all knew damn well that Steve’s ‘mission’ involved breaking into a highly secured prison and conducting a very illegal jail break. Steve had told him how he’d taken the time to help settle Clint somewhere safe, somewhere even more secret than his farmhouse, and had smuggled the rest of his family to him. Sam had helped, and was due to come to Wakanda within a few days after tying up his own loose ends. Scott and Wanda had been appreciative of the jail break, but Wanda had opted to stay in the country and find her own way, and Scott had wanted to go back home to stay closer to his daughter. He figured he could probably get a deal with a lawyer he found in New York.

“So how is it that you’re here?” Steve asked, eyes narrowing. “One would think a CIA operative wouldn’t have jurisdiction in Wakanda.”

Ross gave a quick grin, “No, one would be correct in thinking that. I assume you haven’t heard the latest in Wakandan news?”

At Bucky and Steve’s blank stares, Ross began to fill them in on the events the past couple of weeks that the country had undergone including a nearly successful coup d'état.

“Well shit.” Bucky murmured at the end. “That’s why they’re renovating so much?”

Ross gave him a grim smile in acknowledgement and nodded. “It’s been a busy time.”

“I should have been here.” Steve said lowly. Bucky snapped his attention to him at the tone, and was surprised to see his face dark, his eyebrows pulled into a frown. “I should have helped T’Challa. He’s helped us so much already, and I wasn’t even here.”

Bucky was taken aback by the near-growl in his voice. “Steve, hey. It wasn’t your fault. You were helping your friends. I’m sure T’Challa knows that. Hell, I was asleep during it all.” He tried to go for levity.

Steve looked back at Bucky and forced a small smile. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“Anyway.” Ross cleared his throat again, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “T’Challa has been kind enough to allow me to stay for a few more days to help out a bit, but I’ll be going back stateside soon. Your records have been wiped, Sergeant. The UN knows you didn’t commit those bombings in Vienna. Of course, there’s still quite a bit of legalities you’d have to go through if you wanted to come back home, but I figured that’d be a bridge to cross when we get there.”

He looked at Steve. “You might have a little bit more legalities to get through, Captain.” He gave a dry chuckle. “But I’m off the clock. And Wakanda’s a no-extradition country anyway, so.”

When it looked like Steve wasn’t going to say anything to that, Bucky jumped in. “Thank you, for everything. We really appreciate it. I’m sorry we took a few hard turns to get here.”

Ross waved a hand. “Past is past. Not my job anymore. I’m getting reassigned after this.” With that, he got up and straightened out his suit jacket. He offered a hand.

Bucky got up and took it.

“I’m happy to hear you’ve got your mind back. Until next time.” Ross said.

“Likewise.” Bucky shook his hand and then let go. Ross turned towards Steve who was slower to rise.

Steve took the offered hand, but Bucky could tell there was reticence in the movement. It surprised him to see Steve so hostile, even if it was well hidden.

“Agent Ross.”

“Captain.”

They let go quickly and then Ross smoothed down his jacket one more time before walking down the hallway and turning a corner to disappear.

“That went well.” Bucky offered.

Steve hummed noncommittally and then changed the subject abruptly. “Are you getting hungry? We can explore a little more and find something to eat, I’m starving.”

Bucky looked at him for a moment, noting the tension in his shoulders, and the slight crease in his brow that still hadn’t smoothed out.

“I really want to,” he began slowly, “but I promised Shuri I’d come find her to talk. Later?”

Steve was quick to smile, almost rushing out, “Sure, sure. Sounds good. She seems like a pretty smart kid.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed.

An awkward moment passed between them. Sensing it, Steve shooed Bucky away, “Don’t keep her waiting. I’ll bring back some leftovers later.” He gave Bucky another smile and a pat on his good shoulder.

“You better not eat it all.” Bucky chided him, smiling back.

“I’ll leave you a crumb.”

Bucky laughed at that, the earlier tension easing, and then he shook his head before starting to walk towards where he figured the elevators to Shuri’s lab were.

Before turning the corner, however, Bucky looked back and saw Steve watching him. That wasn’t very surprising.

The brave face Steve had on, however, was.

*

It turned out that their temporary quarters were in two little huts on the outskirts of the jungle, near a beautiful lake. It felt right, to be out, surrounded by a community, living their lives unperturbed by outside influence. It was a nice break from the constant motion from the city, though Bucky knew he’d miss it soon enough. He’d always been a city boy. But for now, he welcomed the peace and the natural beauty.

There were kids that hid poorly behind other huts and trees, watching them curiously as a nice lady showed them their new places. It felt wrong to call them ‘huts’, because while it looked like that on the outside, the inside was another story.

Along the walls were projectors for holograms to look anything up, from a Google search to a full scale tactical landscape. It could connect with calls and live videochat, something Steve seemed more familiar with than Bucky. Their respective beds were simple, they were told. They only had adjustable temperatures and inclines, and memory foam.

Bucky had laughed, thinking this was the best sleeping arrangements he’d ever had.

Steve’s hut was identical to Bucky’s, and only a few yards away. It made warmth curl in his stomach to know that Steve was so close.

*

“What the hell did you do to your uniform?” Bucky asked, shocked as Steve walked into his hut. He was wearing his usual uniform, but the star had been ripped off, and the colors were muted. The sleeves were rolled up, exposing part of his forearms.

Steve at least had the audacity to look sheepish. “I’m not Captain America anymore, Buck.”

“So you had to desecrate your costume?” Bucky had been reading on the bed, but now he set aside his book on the history of Wakanda, and pushed himself up to sit.

“I didn’t _desecrate_ it. I just. I can’t carry that mantle anymore.” Steve looked down and scuffed the floor distractedly. “And anyway, I just made it more stealthy. There’s some bandits on the border that Okoye wanted to deal with since she’s taking over some of the border tribe duties. I volunteered to help.”

“Of course you would.” Bucky didn’t like the way Steve’s shoulder curved in, as if he was trying to make himself seem smaller. “What advantage does the lack of _sleeves_ give you?”

Steve huffed out a laugh and came to sit on the bed next to Bucky, ignoring the question. “It’s only for a few days, Buck. And Sam should be back by the time I’m done anyway.”

Bucky deadpanned, “Oh yay. Sam’s coming.”

Steve gently knocked his shoulder against Bucky’s empty one. It didn’t hurt, the skin healed and the remnants of the metal welded to avoid any exposure to the wires left behind. He nudged Steve back.

“Well, if you’re not Cap, then what’s your call sign, then? Mr. Wrists?”

That garnered an actual belly laugh.

“I actually don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.” Steve looked down at his wrists and turned them as if examining them. He then pulled out his gloves and stood up, putting them on.

“You’re a mess, Rogers.” Bucky joked when Steve pulled a dark blue blanket around his shoulders, obscuring the darkened star. “Those boots, with that blanket? What a fashion faux pas.”

“Oh yeah, because you’re clearly up to date with the latest fashion.” Steve shot back, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah, good to see some things haven’t changed. Except that scruff. What is that? You look like some nomad trekking through a desert, intent on revenge. Oh wait, that’s just your face.”

“Hilarious. Very fitting. I might steal that, watch out.”

Bucky made a sweeping gesture. “Be my guest. Just remember to shave once in a while.”

Steve rolled his eyes and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Bucky wondered if he was hiding something, but then dismissed the idea. He was probably just having a hard time readjusting. Bucky wasn’t going to fault him for that.

“Save some criminal ass for me.” Bucky called after Steve when he turned to leave.

Steve’s response was a thumbs up.

*

Bucky liked the kids in this community.

They were all friendly and curious and didn’t fear him, something Bucky hadn’t realized he needed until now. He still didn’t understand why they insisted on calling him the ‘White Wolf’, but he was happy enough to be included and it was starting to grow on him.

He had wandered through the village in the morning, greeting the lovely young women carrying water from the rivers to their homes and the men working in the fields. The mothers had no qualms about putting Bucky to work, and he soon found himself tending to chickens, carrying baskets of eggs and picking feathers out of his clothes. He liked the beautiful blankets that everyone wore, including his own. He kept his pinned so it would cover his shoulder; he didn’t think anyone would get scared by it, but he didn’t want to take the chance. Nobody asked him about it, which was nice.

Now, though, he was sitting down by the lake, watching the sun set over the water. He had surprised himself by staying busy all day, and this was the first time he really got to rest, still clinging onto the fading tendrils of warmth. He could hear laughter coming from the huts behind him in the distance, glowing with the fading light, and the new fires that had been started.

It was easy, peaceful. The work had been honest and good. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to rest and take a moment to enjoy the moment. Bucharest had been too fraught with anxiety and nervousness. Too much paranoia to truly rest. And he doubted any moment’s pause had been restful while he’d been with Hydra.

No, he probably hadn’t had a chance to bask in the sun and close his eyes since before the war.

He liked it.

Movement close by made him turn his head to look, but he didn’t feel threatened like he might have only days earlier.

Bucky was surprised to see T’Challa walking on the grass towards him, his posture easy and relaxed, and his clothes casual. Bucky made to get up to greet him, but T’Challa shook his head, saying, “No, no. No need to stand. Please. May I sit with you?”

Bucky ducked his head respectfully, “Of course.”

He hadn’t had a chance to talk with him since before he got frozen, and even then it hadn’t really been more than hesitant pleasantries strained by the recent events at the time. Now, Bucky was calm, for the most part, and T’Challa was very naturally at ease as he sat down, leaving enough room between them not to crowd Bucky.

“The sunsets here have always been my favorite. I have been all around the world, and there’s still nothing quite like it, I think.” His voice was quiet, and his accent was soothing. It was nothing like Bucky had ever heard, but he much preferred it to German.

“It’s incredible.”

T’Challa nodded, and they both fell into silence as a soft breeze blew over them. They watched the sunset, and Bucky was amazed at the way the trees and sky changed colors so quickly.

When the sun had finally dropped beyond the horizon, Bucky gathered his courage to finally say, “I’m sorry. I’m truly so sorry.” He couldn’t bring himself to vocalize anymore, because he was sorry for all of it.

T’Challa kept his gaze on the ghost of the sun as he stayed quiet for a moment longer. But just before Bucky started to feel shame creep in, he turned towards Bucky.

“Sergeant Barnes, I was angry. Ignorant. Unwilling to hear the truth. It is not you who should be apologizing, but myself. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Bucky’s eyebrows creased in surprise, and he opened his mouth to argue, but T’Challa continued, “I understand your hesitance. If you’re anything like the Captain, it does not matter what I say, you will still take the blame unto yourself. So let me make it very clear; while you never needed it, you are forgiven. I only hope to one day gain your forgiveness as well, for my foolish actions.”

Stunned, Bucky didn’t know what to say to that.

The light faded into blues and purples, shadows creeping along the tree line.

“I think,” Bucky began, after collecting his thoughts, “I think that we both need to practice managing our guilt.”

T’Challa looked surprised.

Bucky grinned, feeling confident. “How about we both agree to try and live with our forgiveness?” He dug his fingers into the dirt, curling them to feel the clumps disintegrate.

“I think I can agree to that.” T’Challa spoke, looking back up at the lake, now grayed in the dying light.

Soon the only light came from behind them in the village.

The darkness finally prompted them to get up. As he straightened up, T’Challa asked, “How are you settling in, Sergeant?”

“Just ‘Bucky’ is okay. And it’s all so incredible. I really cannot thank you enough for your hospitality. We appreciate it so much.”

“I’m happy to hear that. It’s only for now. If you so choose, we’ll have room in the city. The east apartments are being remodeled over, having been a casualty during our…family disagreement.”

They both started walking back towards the village. “Is there anything I can do to help, Your Majesty?”

T’Challa chuckled, “Please, there is no need for such formalities.” He brought a hand out to gently touch the small of Bucky’s back. It was friendly and felt like a step forward. “And you already are helping so much. In the village, I hear you were quite obliging.”

Bucky smiled, feeling bashful. “I just wanted to lend a hand.” He looked down at his right hand, snorting as realized his own accidental pun.

T’Challa laughed quietly, before saying seriously, “You do, though. You help. You even help when you are not present.” At Bucky’s raised eyebrow, T’Challa continued, “You have given Shuri something to focus on. She is quite adamant about giving you a better arm.

And you being awake now, is sure to help the Captain. It was getting sad to see him staring at the glass for so long.” He said the last part with a smile, obviously humoring, and Bucky couldn’t help but grin back in return.

But the comment needled at something uncurling in Bucky’s mind. He stopped walking, distracted, and T’Challa caught on after a step, stopping and turning back. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, I just—…” Bucky trailed off, trying to put his thoughts into words. “You wouldn’t have happened to notice, anything… _off_ …about…You know what, never mind. I think I’m just seeing things.” Bucky tapped his head and offered a sheepish smile. “Still getting back on track.”

He started walking again, and T’Challa easily kept pace.

“You know,” T’Challa began, spacing out his words carefully, “I would not be so dismissive of your first instincts so quickly. You may be struggling to remember some things, but others, I would wager, are not quite so muddled.”

Bucky glanced sideways at T’Challa. “Yeah. I guess maybe so. I’m sure it’ll all clear up soon enough.”

“Bast willing, it will happen before fate decides it’s too late.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that.

*

Bucky was tired of Sam already.

He had come to Wakanda a couple days before Steve was due back, and at first the tension had been palpable. They still were wary of each other, knowing full well that they would put aside their differences to help fight against an enemy if needed.

However, Wakanda was peaceful at the moment.

He tried to give as good as he got, he really did, but it his comebacks were rusty, and his knowledge of popular culture was spotty. And Sam was too gleeful in taking full advantage of that.

“Hey man, I know you have trouble finding shirts in your size. You could always try a _secondhand store_.”

They were working out, having found the fancy training grounds that T’Challa and his king’s guard used, and the jokes had been coming since before dawn. Bucky was sitting on a balance ball, using a weight while Sam declared it to be ‘leg day’ and was squeezing his thighs against some pads on fancy-looking gym equipment.

“We haven’t got any thrift stores in Wakanda.” Shuri’s voice carried from across the gym as she made her way towards the pair. Sam immediately perked up, and Bucky grinned. The one thing he had going for him was that Shuri was somehow always on his side of things, egging him on against Sam, something that Sam took to be a challenge. From the first moment Sam had ribbed Bucky, Shuri had absolutely laid him down flat with a scathing remark, and Sam had been trying to one-up her ever since. Bucky knew that Shuri honestly liked Sam, but she loved the drama of their stupidity even more.

That was probably why she had made her way down to the gym, rather than just messaging Bucky.

“I know your arm was silver with a red star before, I’ve seen the pictures,” Shuri began, ignoring Sam as he began to add weights to his machine, “But I wanted to ask you your opinion for the color scheme of the new arm.”

Bucky set down his weight to look at the hologram she pulled up, showing a variety of options of arms, each sporting a different layout of colors. They all looked beautiful, all sleek plating and subtle coloring. “Honestly, Shuri, these all look incredible. I’m not picky about the colors. Whatever you think is best.”

“Betta not choose red and white. There’s only one guy on the field that can pull off those colors, and it ain’t you.” Sam called out, grinning at his own joke.

“What a terrible choice of colors. I would never dress the Sergeant as a peppermint.” Shuri deadpanned, making Bucky have to stifle a giggle. Sam looked affronted, and got distracted when the weights pushed his legs back to the starting position, making him curse.

Shuri looked at Bucky and winked an eye.

“Honestly, I trust you. This is already more than enough, I don’t know how to thank you.”  

Shuri closed the hologram, and readjusted her kimoyo beads. “You can start by not thanking me. It’s been a pleasure, Sergeant.”

“Bucky.” He corrected.

Shuri winked at him again and walked out of the gym the same way she came in, ignoring Sam and waving to some of the Dora that were on the other side doing their own exercises. The Dora Milaje had their own gym, but every now and again some would come down here to use the machines.

“One day I will make her laugh.” Sam grumbled as he gingerly pulled himself up.

Bucky rolled his eyes and went back to his curls. “I can’t believe you’re trying that hard to make a teenager laugh. How hard can it be?”

Sam’s response to that was a muttered, “I make everyone laugh,” as he walked away from Bucky to find another piece of equipment to work out on. Bucky chuckled and went back to his reps, wondering if he really wanted to spend the time in here or if he would be better off pulling his weight back in the village. They had each moved into small apartments in the city a few days ago, but Bucky had gone back to the village nearly every day to work. Sam had dragged him here, so he figured it was fine to skip a day working under the sun.

His thoughts drifted to Steve, as they usually did, and he recalled their conversation this morning. Steve had come in early in the morning, covered in dirt and needing a shower. He looked exhausted, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but the tight tension and on-edge look in his eyes hadn’t faded away. Bucky had asked him if the mission had gone well, and apparently it had gone better than expected, with no casualties and a drug cartel taken down. Bucky wondered if that was the whole story, because he could still see some pent-up adrenaline. He put it down to Steve being over-tired, seeing as how he had passed out almost immediately after he’d showered and collapsed into bed.

Still, the haggard look on Steve’s face haunted him. He remembered Steve after a fight, and it didn’t look like that.

After a couple more minutes of mulling it over and driving himself insane, he figured he knew someone who was pretty familiar with Steve’s post-mission quirks and behaviors. Putting away his equipment, Bucky approached Sam, who had moved on to the rowing machine.

He was in the middle of a rep and when he saw Bucky coming he called out, “Let me finish up here, and then I’ll arm wrestle you. No cheating.” He winked at Bucky as he pushed out with his legs.

Bucky almost replied in kind, but the joke got caught in his throat.

“Have you…have you noticed anything with Steve lately?” Bucky decidedly didn’t mumble, but it was a close thing. Sam, despite his snarky demeanor and constant ribbing, immediately caught on to Bucky’s mood and he carefully slowed down, releasing his handhold and levering himself up to meet Bucky.

“You worried?” Sam asked, expression thoughtful.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember…enough. Just— a feeling? Wanted to know if I’m just being paranoid.”

Sam nodded in understanding. “I mean. He’s been a bit tense lately. Not reckless on missions, but…” He trailed off and Bucky waited. “Something about the way he’s been fighting lately has been a bit, I don’t know. Different? Hadn’t really thought much about it until now though. And homeboy hasn’t shaved in a couple of days.”

They both chuckled at that, Bucky caught off guard at Sam’s attempt of levity. Sobering up quickly, Bucky asked, “But it’s. It’s a bit more than usual?”

Sam watched him for a moment, eyes flitting across Bucky’s face. He didn’t know what he found but Sam eventually replied, “Yeah. A bit more than usual.”

A silence fell between them, only broken by the ambient music and occasional machine being used on the other side of the room.

“You could always try to talk to him, you know.” Sam brought up. “Lord knows I’ve tried. He might listen to you.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty good at evading what he doesn’t want to discuss.” Bucky agreed.

A mischievous glint came back to Sam’s eye as he said, “Almost as good as you tryin’ to evade that arm wrestling competition.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and walked away. “Not gonna happen, Wilson.”

*

Bucky was nervous.

The first time he’d gone through this, he had screamed and screamed and _screamed_. They had let him keep that memory.

And of course he knew that maintenance had always hurt, even if he never remembered what for. That pain never left him no matter how many times they wiped him.

And of course, when Tony Stark had blasted it off, it had been so much worse than he could have expected, the raw agony of every nerve ending shortening out and electrifying throughout his whole body in waves that left him gasping and twitching.

So Bucky was nervous.

Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t help but give a small smile as Shuri excitedly shepherded Bucky onto a comfy loveseat in her lab. He briefly wondered if she had brought it down here specifically so that Bucky would be more at ease than in a sterile chair. If so, it worked, because Bucky was happy to sit down and let the cushions envelop him as Shuri directed her assistants, talking quickly, mostly in Xhosa. Bucky let the sounds wash over him as he tried to distract himself from what was coming.

Steve was there, of course. He was off to the side, watching keenly at the proceedings. His hair was starting to grow out—he’d need a haircut soon. And his stubble was starting to grow into a proper beard. It was strange to see, since Bucky couldn’t remember Steve ever having an actual beard before. Not when he was tiny, and not during the war.

Bucky was pulled back to the present when an assistant rolled over a cart with a box on top. She flipped it open, and inside it, lying innocuously, was the arm.

Shuri had worked on it and had finally declared it ready, dragging Bucky and Steve down so she could show them. She had chosen a muted black coloring with understated gold linings, and Bucky thought it looked pretty. Delicate. Something that he maybe didn’t deserve.

He felt his breath picking up a bit, his pulse beating hard, and then Steve was suddenly there, his hand slipping into Bucky’s and squeezing comfortingly.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Steve asked quietly. “We could always do this another time. Or never, if you want.” Steve looked so earnest and ready to do whatever Bucky decided. It was comforting, that honest expression. He could remember that from before.

Bucky cleared his throat and got out, “Yeah, it’s fine. Just a bit nervous.” He tried for a disarming smile, but it fell flat when Shuri approached.

“We’re ready when you are, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky.” He corrected automatically, and when he looked up and saw that Shuri was smiling, he realized she had done it on purpose. He couldn’t help but grin back.

“It shouldn’t hurt, Bucky.” Shuri stated, matter of fact, for the fifth time that morning. Bucky was still having a hard time accepting her promise, despite the fact that she had no reason to lie to him.

“Might as well get it over with.” He moved his gaze back to Steve who was standing straight, a shield for Bucky to use if necessary. Bucky simply squeezed his hand before letting go. Steve backed up only a couple feet, just enough to let Shuri and her assistants have room, but close enough in case he was needed. Bucky appreciated the gesture.

“I will explain everything as I go.” Shuri promised, and Bucky nodded, already tuning her out as he kept his gaze on Steve. Her voice drifted over him as they moved around, opening his shirt and removing his pad to reveal his ruined shoulder. The pieces of broken metal still embedded into his shoulder were jagged and raw, and he refused to look as they prodded and poked. He vaguely heard Shuri explaining how they needed to remove the remaining pieces before attaching the new arm, but he just watched Steve, ignoring the movements.

Steve’s face was going through a complicated series of expressions, and Bucky distracted himself by trying to parse through them. He saw worry and concern, the two main ingredients on today’s menu. But he also caught curiosity and fascination, two emotions he would also share under different circumstances. Maybe when he was in a better state of mind to appreciate the science behind it all.

But underneath all that, Bucky also caught the darkness that Steve had been trying to hide lately.

Guilt.

Sadness.

Anger.

Bucky was slowly realizing that they were glimmers of emotion that were growing.

He was so enraptured by watching Steve that he was caught off guard by a smooth feeling, a slippery sensation that left goosebumps in its wake. Bucky glanced down to see they had removed the remaining metal, and all that was left was mangled flesh.

Bucky hadn’t realized he was on the verge of a panic attack until a warm hand was guiding his face away from his destroyed shoulder.

“Easy, breathe.” Steve was murmuring, right in Bucky’s face. When had he gotten so close? “Stay with me.”

“Always.” Bucky croaked out, surprised by how dry his throat suddenly was. All he could see was Steve’s face, and it was all he wanted to see. Shuri must have stopped everything at Bucky’s reaction, but he didn’t want to drag this out longer than needed, so he tried to swallow a couple times before gritting out, “Please, keep going.”

Everything went quicker after that, and Steve kept his hand on Bucky’s face. It was the most grounding thing Bucky could have asked for. He couldn’t see what was happening, didn’t want to, but he could feel it when a weight pulled his shoulder down. A numb sensation spread across his shoulder down his chest and then he heard Shuri say, “Okay.”

Steve rubbed his thumb against Bucky’s cheek and then let his hand fall, turning to look at Shuri. Bucky turned his head to follow Steve’s gaze, watching as Shuri looked at the arm now attached to Bucky.

“That’s it?” Steve asked from behind him.

Shuri nodded, looking expectantly towards Bucky. “You can wake it up now.”

Bucky had no idea what she meant, but he finally allowed himself to look down. It was laying on the armrest, innocent and still, and Bucky’s eyes traveled from the tip of the metal fingers all the way up to his shoulder, the metal somehow connecting smoothly into his flesh. He had been expecting pain, something to weld the two together, but there had been none of that. He’d have to ask Shuri about it later.

“How?” Bucky finally asked, overwhelmed and trying not to panic again.

“Just think.” Was the reply.

Of course the answer would be so simple, and so hard to do. Bucky didn’t know what to think half the time.

Taking in a deep breath, Bucky pushed everything aside, focusing completely on the arm. _His_ arm.

He decided he wanted to curl his fingers, and just like that, a really weird and tingly sensation traveled impossibly up his arm, and his fingers were curling.

He thought he should lift it, and he did.

He thought about stretching his fingers, and they stretched.

He crooked his elbow.

He turned his wrist.

It was nothing like his previous arm. That had been a chore to think about every time. He’d gotten good at it, but he’d still had to work on it.

This felt organic. New, yet familiar.

This felt like a limb waking up.

“Holy shit.” Bucky breathed out.

*

Bucky and Steve still had separate apartments, though they were just down the hall from each other. Sam also had an apartment even though he didn’t live in it all the time. He juggled his time between Wakanda and Canada, alternating between smuggling himself across the border in New York to see his grandmother, and having her come up to see him. Bucky always told him he’d get caught, to which Sam would flip him the bird, but they both knew that was just their way of wishing luck.

Sam was in Canada now, Niagara Falls, if Bucky remembered correctly, so he walked past his apartment door, intent on bringing Steve out for dinner. They had made a habit of exploring the city of Wakanda, trying all the food and finding new places to eat, and one of the Dora Milaje from the gym had recommended a hole-in-the-wall restaurant they hadn’t tried yet.

Bucky didn’t even think to knock, just walked in like he normally did, and stopped immediately. He blinked a couple times as his eyes got used to the sudden darkness. His first thought was that Steve must have left earlier, but Bucky knew that wasn’t the case. He had seen Steve go into his apartment a couple hours before, and Bucky, who had had his door open since, would have seen Steve walk past if he’d left, never mind the fact that Steve would have told him he was going out.

He was about to pull out his phone to call Steve, when his eyes finally adjusted and he realized that Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed. He wasn’t doing anything, just sitting there. In the dark.

Bucky got the feeling he’d been sitting there for a really long time, as sundown had been two hours before.

“Steve?” He asked cautiously. When Steve didn’t immediately answer, Bucky reached out to hit the switch on the wall. The sudden brightness made Bucky squint for a moment, but it made Steve flinch. _Hard._

It was strange, to see Steve so disoriented at first, blinking fast and looking around. Bucky walked over to sit next to him, setting his human hand on his thigh. He noticed he was still wearing his workout clothes from earlier.

“Steve, hey, it’s Bucky.”

Like a switch, Steve shook his head and looked at Bucky, plastering on a smile.

“Hey, sorry, I was just thinking.” Steve put his hand on Bucky’s squeezing it comfortingly and cocked his head, wearing an innocent expression.

It was a little unnerving to see him acting like that after clearly not being okay, and Bucky though he should probably confront him about it, but words failed him. Before he could think of what to say, Steve beat him to the punch.

“You know, gold is definitely your color.”

“Yeah, I was getting real tired of silver.” Bucky replied without thinking.

Steve turned a little to face Bucky better. “Seventy years, yeah it was about time for a fashion upgrade.”

Bucky snorted. “Oh, and I should follow your fashion choices?”

“Hmm, if I had my way, we’d ditch all the clothes.” This time, Steve winked at Bucky and squeezed his hand again. Bucky had almost forgotten he was still holding on.

With a start, Bucky realized they were flirting. Properly flirting. With a rush, Bucky suddenly appreciated how little some things have changed between them. This, this back and forth. They used to do this all the time, and more, if Bucky recalled correctly.

There were lots of things Bucky was suddenly remembering.

Lots of hurried touches, slow explorations, shared breaths, quiet groans, sharp gasps, full feelings, tight grips, sweaty hair, teeth marks, gentle slides, and so much more.

The sheer overwhelming nostalgia had Bucky leaning closer to Steve, trying to chase those memories. Steve was right there, so close, and so _real_. God, it was so temping to let things get out of hand, just close that distance.

The bed was right there after all…

Bucky’s arm recalibrating on its own startled both of them into straightening up when they realized how close they had gotten. 

Steve withdrew his hand, and the loss of that warmth stung just a little bit. Bucky stood up, clearing his throat.

“I was going to let you know that I think I’m too tired for dinner. We can go tomorrow, instead.” The lie rolled off his tongue almost without meaning to, but Bucky knew they probably shouldn’t be together tonight. Not if they wanted to avoid making any rash decisions. They were still on rocky grounds, not just with each other, but in general.

Steve stood up too, dragging a hand through his growing hair. “Yeah, um. I had a pretty big lunch earlier.” Steve’s lie fell flat on both of their ears, and Steve even winced in apology.

Bucky rolled with it, sparing him as he hummed noncommittally and said, “Okay, well goodnight, then.”

“Good night, Buck.”

Bucky waited a beat, staring awkwardly at Steve as they both tried to figure out a way to salvage the conversation. When no solution presented itself, Bucky decided to kill it, and he turned to walk back towards the hall, mentally grateful that Sam was gone and couldn’t witness this exchange. 

He was nearly at the door when Steve called out, “Hold on, wait.”

Bucky turned around in time to have Steve get into his personal space and just stand there for a moment. The heat and longing from before hit Bucky like a wave, and then Steve’s mouth was on his.

It was gentle, chaste, and altogether too short, but it was absolutely perfect. Their first kiss shared in this new future of theirs.

Steve broke away and whispered, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“I’m glad you did.” Bucky reached up to touch his artificial fingertips to Steve’s scruff. “Really glad.”

They stared at each other again, but this time, there wasn’t a trace of awkwardness. Just rightness.

“Goodnight, Steve.” Bucky breathed, lowering his hand and clenching his fingers into a fist.

Steve dipped his head, almost as if chasing Bucky’s touch before saying, “Goodnight, Bucky.”

When Bucky went to bed, he forced himself to unclench his metal fist, and he swore he could still feel Steve’s warmth lingering on the tips of his fingers.

*

Steve was away, somewhere in the west of the continent, helping Nakia on an outreach mission with a village that was starving. They had suspicions that the village was being starved by a mercenary group, so Steve had immediately jumped on board to assist. Bucky wanted to go, wanted to help, but he was still getting used to the new arm. It was intuitive, and he’d picked up on using it very quickly, but he wasn’t completely natural with it yet. And he hadn’t yet tested it in a fight.

Which was why, in between running tests and diagnostics with Shuri, Bucky found himself getting his ass handed to him by the Dora Milaje.

Bucky didn’t think he’d ever adored women as much as he did now.

He was in the middle of sparring with Ayo when a figure stepped closer into their area, distracting Bucky enough to get knocked over and pinned to the floor, his arm completely immobilized by her spear. Granted, the distraction only sped things up, as this was the fourth time he’d been grounded within the last five minutes.

Tapping on Ayo’s thigh, Bucky conceded, “Nice.”

“You should never take your eyes off of your opponent.” Ayo’s tone was sharp, but she gave him a small smile as she eased the pressure off and rolled up to stand, extending her hand out for Bucky to take.

“Even for someone as awesome as me.” Shuri announced, strolling in casually. Okoye appeared from where she’d been off to the side, and quickly stepped in behind Shuri. Bucky noticed the guarding position, even if Shuri dismissed it.

“I think anybody would be distracted by royalty.” Bucky answered, grinning when Shuri looked mock-offended.

“I thought we were past these formalities, Sergeant Barnes. And to think, I come here bearing gifts.” She placed one hand on her chest dramatically, while keeping the other hand behind her back, clearly holding something.

“Oh, Princess,” Bucky began, bowing with unnecessary flair, “However will you forgive me?”

Shuri threw back her head to laugh. Bucky couldn’t help but join in, feeling a wave of nostalgia he always got around her. She reminded him of his sisters, what little he could remember of them, and he appreciated the way she acted around him. It felt natural to tease her and to get teased in return. And if Okoye’s smirk was any indication, Bucky’s behavior seemed to be met with approval among the Dora.

“I will have to manage somehow.” Shuri allowed magnanimously.

“I thank Your Highness.” Bucky bowed his head with a quirk of a smile. “What can I do for you today, Shuri?”

“You mean, other than provide highly amusing entertainment with how often you eat it on the mat? You know, that’s almost an insult— that’s my tech you’re wearing. Show some respect.”

Bucky gave her a thumbs up with his metal hand. The plates slid soundlessly, and it felt much more organic to move them with this vibranium than with the old arm. 

Shuri grinned and brought her hand out from behind her back, revealing what she had been hiding.

“I know you’ve missed a bit these past few years, so I wanted to introduce some things.”

Bucky knew it was supposed to be a joke, except for how it really wasn’t. He reached out to delicately take the bottle of conditioner from her hands, and couldn’t even tone down the gratitude in his voice when he said, “Thank you. Really.”

“It was no bother.” Shuri replied.

“You take good care of that, Sergeant. That is from my special stock. It is how I keep my hair so soft. Top secret.” Bucky glanced up, startled, when he realized Okoye had stepped closer to speak. He couldn’t help but glancing up to her obviously hair-less head, realizing he just fell for a joke when Shuri started cracking up. Okoye winked at him, and then Bucky joined in, laughing freely. 

Later, after Shuri had disappeared to go bother her brother, Bucky found himself sparring with Okoye. He had no time to feel intimidated, not when she was such a badass, laying him out several times in moves he could have never predicted. The one and only time he managed to pin her down, he was so surprised with an apology on his lips, that he didn’t even realize that she had swapped positions until there was a knife against his throat.

Bucky was in awe. 

*

When Bucky finally started to go out on missions, they were mostly local. Things close to Wakanda that were easy enough, even without the help of the Dora Milaje. Bucky assumed it was on purpose, in case anything went wrong with the arm, or if his brain wasn’t as healed as previously thought. Bucky didn’t mind— he actually appreciated the training wheels. It gave him the time to discover his new limitations and possibilities. And of course he appreciated helping people, no matter how small the mission was.

He even helped a little girl when she got stuck in a tree, one time. She had looked at him with wide eyes the whole way down, and then ran to her mother the moment she had touched ground.

Nakia had later explained that that had been the first time that little girl had seen a white man.

“I wasn’t expecting that.” Bucky had replied, stunned by the culture shock, even though it made perfect sense.

“At least it was a kind encounter.” Nakia pointed out, quirking her lips in a way that meant she was amused by Bucky’s education.

It was an ongoing education.

Bucky liked Nakia a lot.

He didn’t get to go on missions with her often, since she did mostly did outreach work that didn’t need muscle, but the few times he’d gone with her, he had nearly sat back to simply watch her work, impressed with her moves and tactics.

Steve liked her too. Steve also adored all of the Dora Milaje. They hadn’t talked about the night they’d kissed, or anything remotely personal, but they did have conversations about how amazing the Dora were.

And Bucky loved talking about Sam’s continued failure at flirting with the women of Wakanda.

“He actually asked Ayo to dinner.” Bucky gossiped happily to Steve while they fed the goats. Bucky still made a point to come down to the first village that had housed him, to help out when he could.

“How’d that go down?” Steve asked distractedly. A baby goat kept munching on his pant leg and he delicately pushed her off.

“About as well as you’d think. She was very polite though.” He crouched down to feed a rather small goat, petting it carefully with his new arm. He was impressed with how he could _feel_ the smallest details. It wasn’t the same as his real arm, but it was a damn near thing.

When he straightened up again, he turned to flash a smile at Steve, happy at doing such a domestic chore. He felt his smile freeze when he caught Steve’s expression.

Steve was frowning, looking down at the food in his hands which were shaking slightly. Not enough to spill the grains and oats, but enough to be alarming. Steve’s hands never shook.

“Steve?” Bucky started, cautious.

Steve didn’t answer, still looking down.

“Hey, Stevie.” Bucky walked over to stand in front of Steve, who still hadn’t responded. It wasn’t until Bucky gently laid his hands on top of Steve’s, that Steve finally moved, startled, with a sharp inhale. He looked up to meet Bucky’s eyes, looking confused for a moment; the crease between his eyes was pronounced, and he searched Bucky’s face, looking lost, before finally smoothing it out into a more neutral expression.

The deliberateness of it left Bucky astounded.

“So Sam doesn’t have a dinner date, then?” Steve forced a grin out, and letting his hands close on themselves before dropping his arms, silently moving away from Bucky. He turned and threw out some of the food onto the floor next to him, moving around an excited goat.

It took Bucky a moment before he could respond. “…No. No he doesn’t. But he keeps trying.” 

Bucky almost put his foot down there, wanting to demand that Steve tell him what the problem was. He wasn’t acting like the Steve he remembered.

Granted, Bucky wasn’t acting like the Bucky from before either, but this. This was different.

In the end he chickened out and they continued to feed the goats, keeping up idle chatter until it was time to go back to the city. It was there that they parted paths, Steve going to talk with T’Challa about something, leaving Bucky free to track down Sam.

“What’s up, Buzz Lightyear?” Sam asked when he answered the door.

“Got a minute to talk?” Sam inclined his head and opened the door wider, letting Bucky into his apartment. Bucky made his way over to the couch, and Sam followed, making a quick detour to the kitchen to grab two beers.

He gave one to Bucky, saying, “This looks needed.”

Bucky took one and drank half of it before facing Sam again. For all their joking animosity toward each other, Bucky liked that he could talk to Sam about important things.

“I know I’ve mentioned it before, but…”

“Steve?” Sam finished for him when Bucky trailed off. He nodded and Sam hummed thoughtfully. “Have you talked about it with him?”

Bucky looked down guiltily. “Not in so many words, no. We kind of don’t talk about things like that. Dunno why it’s so hard to bring up.”

Sam snickered, “Of course it’s a hard thing to bring up. People wouldn’t have so many problems if they’d all just _talk_ about it instead of letting things stew.”

Bucky quirked his lips. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s just. I haven’t seen Steve like this, this, I don’t know, _low_ , since his ma died, ya know? It’s almost like he’s becoming a ghost. Or something. I don’t know.”

Sam let that hang in the air for a moment, taking a swig of his own beer, before finally saying, “Yeah, I feel you man. He hasn’t been quite the same. But I also don’t know him like you do.” Sam gave a wry smile at that. “He could be simply adjusting to you going out on missions now? That man mother hens like no other.”

Bucky surprised himself by snickering. “Yeah, he’s always been like that. Always the first to get himself into trouble, and the first to make sure you’re okay when trouble’s gone.”

“He definitely always looks for trouble, that one.” Sam agreed, raising his beer bottle in mock salute. Bucky settled back on the couch, breathing out a sigh.

“You know,” Sam started up again after a moment, “He looks for trouble all the time. His plate is pretty full by this point. He probably just needs a proper vacation. And a therapist.”

Bucky laughed, despite himself. “God, you’re so right,” Bucky found himself agreeing, “wonder if Wakanda has any therapists?”

Sam spread out his arms in a mock show, grinning as he snickered, “I damn well hope so, because I’m going to need one myself if any more of these fine ladies turn me down. Man, I haven’t this much trouble getting a girl since _high school_.”

“That’s so embarrassing.” Bucky couldn’t help but tease Sam, which launched Sam into a spiel about different ways he was going to get one of the Dora Milaje to agree to dinner with him one night.

Bucky welcomed the distraction.

*

The first time they had sex since the 40’s took Bucky by surprise.

He had just come back from a mission— more of a charitable chasing off of bandits from a popular river—, and he hadn’t even had a chance to shower, still tacky, and a little dirty from the dried river water around his boots.

That hadn’t stopped Steve from stalking into his bedroom unannounced and walking right over to Bucky only to push him up against the wall, kissing him hard.

Bucky couldn’t help the surprised noise and huff of air as Steve’s hands ran along the straps on Bucky’s field uniform, fingers deftly unbuckling and loosening everything up.

“Didja miss me?” Bucky managed when Steve pulled back enough to kiss down Bucky’s jaw and throat, nuzzling against the tender skin above his collar, and leaving stinging bites.

Bucky groaned, bringing his hands up to settle on Steve’s waist, and trying not to get overwhelmed— no easy feat when they’ve been taking it slow, frustratingly so. Granted, Bucky lumped ‘not talking about it’ in with that, so maybe his judgment was slightly skewed.

This, however? This was very clearly out of character, given the delicate space they’d been giving each other. This was frantic and hurried, and _desperate_ , and Steve wasn’t letting up, somehow figuring out how to pull Bucky’s top off of him only to chase the newfound skin with his mouth, still not saying a word to Bucky.

“Hey, Steve.” Bucky tried, pushing back a little, trying to make some room. Steve simply twisted to slide in up against Bucky, shoving a knee between Bucky’s leg and tilting his hips to slot against Bucky’s.

Bucky’s breath left him in a rush as he tried to process what was going on.

“Slow down, Stevie, hold on.” He tried again, feeling every inch of Steve’s body pressed up against his, and trying not to keep his body from responding in kind.

Steve ignored Bucky, one hand coming up to grip the back of Bucky’s neck and bring him in for another searing kiss, and the other flicking open the snap of Bucky’s tactical pants, only to slip in under his boxers and grab Bucky without preamble.

That finally snapped Bucky back to reality. As much as they’d been dancing around this for so long, and as much as Bucky was completely willing to explore this, Steve’s behavior was slightly alarming, and they needed to _talk._

“Steve, stop.” Bucky growled as he turned his head away, breaking the kiss. He used his metal arm to grab Steve’s wrist, and pulled his hand out of his pants. He then used Steve’s forward momentum towards Bucky to easily maneuver _Steve_ against the wall, pulling Steve’s other wrist back to join the other in a strict lock. Bucky kicked Steve’s left foot out to unbalance him slightly for good measure, making sure to keep him pinned and steady.

Steve groaned and panted harshly, his face flat against the wall, and then shuddered hard under Bucky’s implacable grip. He let his whole body go loose, pliant under Bucky’s hands, like a taut string cut loose.

The complete one-eighty threw Bucky in for another loop, and he finally had to admit to himself that he was hard, despite the confusion.

“What’s gotten into you?” Bucky murmured quietly.

“Can’t a fella say ‘hi’ to another fella?” Steve finally rasped out, and even though he couldn’t turn to face Bucky properly, Bucky could see how dilated Steve’s pupils were. He was in a _mood_.

“Sure,” Bucky said cautiously, “but you don’t gotta jump me like that, Stevie.”

At his name, Steve did another full body shiver, still not trying to break Bucky’s grip. It was one hell of a distraction.

Bucky felt his eyes grow a touch wider, “Yeah? You like that?” Slowly, so slowly, Bucky tightened his hold on Steve. The responding whimper earned from that went straight to Bucky’s cock.

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky loosened his hold on Steve, stepping back completely, giving them both space. “We can’t just jump in like this, we gotta talk.”

Steve slumped against the wall for a moment, letting it take his weight when he still kept his hands behind his back in the same position Bucky had left them. He was still breathing heavily when he slowly turned around, bright eyes finding Bucky’s immediately.

“Please,” Steve whispered, voice wrecked, “Bucky, please.”

Bucky froze, surprised. Steve pressed on brokenly, begging, “I need you Bucky, please.”

His resolution was crumbling in the face of that voice.

Bucky was damned if he was going to make Steve beg anymore, not when he wanted the same thing. He stopped caring about thinking things through, didn’t care that they were coming at this sideways, that there were things that they needed to get straightened out. Bucky was done denying himself what he wanted, and he could never deny Steve what he wanted.

“C’mere.” Bucky murmured, and Steve folded himself into Bucky’s arms, shivering when Bucky slid his hand into his hair and pulled him into a deep kiss. Steve relaxed, the first real drain of adrenaline since he’d jumped Bucky.

Gently, Bucky took a step back, guiding them both back towards his bed. Steve followed blindly, and soon enough they were carefully finding their ground around each other again. This was simply another mission to tackle, here in the future, as they tried to remember old tricks that got discarded for better, newer ones. They fumbled for direction, until Bucky quickly figured out that Steve relaxed more when Bucky took the lead. With permission, Steve explored Bucky slowly and fully, before conceding to have Bucky do the same.

It was this, this easy break from their lives, that had Bucky grinning unrepentantly when hints of the old Steve shined through. The way he moved, the noises he made, the crease between his brows and the shape of his mouth as he surrendered to pleasure were all the same that Bucky remembered. And re-remembered.

Steve’s hair, sweaty and sticking to his forehead with how shaggy it’s gotten.

The quiver in Steve’s thighs as he spread them open, and dutifully held them in position.

Whimpers that got stuck in his throat, only to escape on breathy moans.

The way Steve instinctively reached out to intertwine his fingers with Bucky.

Eyes dark and wide open, a blue so bright it threatened to enthrall Bucky forever.

Steve’s toes curling in bliss as he dug his heels into Bucky’s lower back.

That smile.

That smile on Steve’s face, lazy and slack, when he’d finally let go; and through his post-orgasmic haze he still checked in with Bucky to make sure Bucky was okay.

It was addicting, Bucky thought, to chase the past.

*

They finally said to hell with it, and moved in together. It just made sense.

They ignored Sam’s increasingly obvious knowing smirks, and gave their awkward thanks to T’Challa when he came down to personally congratulate the both of them. Bucky hadn’t known what to say when he caught a pleased look on T’Challa’s face.

So now they slept in the same bed, and Bucky was surprised by how much he was getting laid. Well, when he was there, and neither of them were out on missions. But that still left quite a bit of downtime in between outings, and Steve was very excited to discover new things they could get up to in bed. Bucky, of course, had no problem with it, and enjoyed this new, energetic Steve.

He’d almost been able to convince himself that he’d imagined everything, that everything was fine now, until he woke up in the middle of the night to Steve very clearly having a vicious nightmare.

The sheets had been kicked off, and Steve’s face was pinched in pain, head tossing from side to side as he breathed harshly.

“Steve?” Bucky tried, his voice hoarse with sleep. Steve just shuddered and turned his face away.

“Wake up, Steve, c’mon. You’re just having a bad dream.” He made sure to keep his voice low and calm, not wanting to spook Steve awake. If Bucky had ever had to soothe Steve through a nightmare before, he couldn’t remember it. He thought he must have, at some point, but no matter how hard he tried, those memories eluded him. So he was left feeling helpless as he tried to wake Steve up, hesitant to touch him in case he made things worse.

“Steve, it’s okay.” Bucky tried again, sitting up.

The movement was enough to jolt Steve awake, his eyes snapping open, looking around wildly.

“Woah, hey, hey, it’s just me. It’s Bucky.”

At the sound of his voice, Steve jerked his whole body upright, facing Bucky in a defensive position, hands coming up, poised for a fight should it come to it. His gaze was frantic, eyes searching the whole room before finally landing back on Bucky. His expression smoothed out then into one of confusion, though it still hadn’t lost its wary edge. He was shivering slightly.

“Bucky?” His voice was wispy and quiet, and the broken hope laced in that one word was the most awful sound Bucky had ever heard.

“Hey, yeah, it’s me. Steve, you’re okay, you just had a bad dream.” Bucky slowly reached out with both hands, telegraphing his every move. Steve’s attention snapped to the movement, but he simply watched as Bucky carefully placed his hands on Steve’s outstretched ones. When Steve only let out a shuddered breath, Bucky pressed lightly, pushing Steve’s hands down until they could rest on the bed.

“That’s it, easy does it. You’re safe, you know that? It’s just us here.”

Steve stared at their hands, letting Bucky curl his fingers around Steve’s in a comforting hold.

“Yeah.” Steve finally answered, distracted as another shiver made its way through his body. The air conditioning in the room was turned on, so Bucky wondered if that was exacerbating Steve’s chills.

Bucky still wasn’t sure if Steve was totally with him in this moment, but he was taking it as a win, if Steve was calming down just a little bit, even if he still looked confused.

“We’re in Wakanda, remember? We did that run in Egypt earlier in the week. And we came back and ate at that place with the spicy chicken that was so good. We watched a movie before going to bed, that one about star that’s a girl, and the boy who meets her?” Bucky spoke quietly, and was pleased to see Steve’s posture easing out finally. His lost look dissipated the more Bucky talked until he finally sighed heavily.

“Yeah.” He repeated, but this time it was more purposeful. “Yeah, sorry. Just. Got a little…mixed up.” He finally tore his gaze up from their hands to look at Bucky. His eyes were red-rimmed, and a little too shiny, but he still offered a tentative ghost of a smile.

Bucky found himself asking, “Are you okay?” Immediately he wanted to kick himself, because it was so obvious that no, Steve was not okay. Steve hadn’t been okay in a while, and Bucky still hadn’t found the courage to make him talk about it.

Predictably, Steve answered with forced cheer in his voice, “Yeah. Yeah, Buck, I’m fine. Just had a bad dream, is all. Nothing to worry about, they go away. Let’s just go back to sleep, yeah?”

Bucky let it go for the moment, despite not being convinced in the slightest.

Especially not after the nightmares started to come more frequently, each one more obviously painful than the previous one.

Worry gnawed at him, because despite trying everything he could to help Steve through them, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. He found out that touching Steve during a nightmare worked to calm him down enough to go back to sleep, until it didn’t anymore. Then it just made everything worse.

It was all getting worse, really, and Bucky could only be distracted by so many sexual advances before he finally had to put a stop to it.

*

It was a beautiful day, not too hot, though still humid. The sun was creeping away from afternoon to turn into a lazy evening, and they were enjoying a rare day off. Bucky still had a cut on his cheek from a fight earlier in the week, though it had mostly healed by now. Steve’s bruised ribs were no longer hurting him, and they enjoyed the fresh Wakandan air as they walked through the meadow near the lake.

Bucky welcomed the light breeze, liking the way it pushed his hair around, despite having put it in a messy bun. He’d thought about cutting it, but liked how the kids would braid it when they got a hold of him. Glancing towards Steve, he could see the breeze ruffling his hair now longer too. His face now sported a full beard, which still sometimes surprised Bucky, despite having beard burn in delicate places.

They were quiet for the most part, idly commenting on the flowers they saw, or the children that were running around near the village. They were decidedly not talking about how Bucky had found Steve that morning in the shower, the water running too cold for comfort, and Steve not reacting at all to the temperature. It had taken Bucky finally stepping in and physically pulling Steve out before Steve had realized Bucky was there, trying to talk to him. Steve had brushed it off as being distracted by the upcoming mission in a couple days, but it had been the last straw for Bucky.

So he’d planned it out. He had wanted to wait until they were relatively calm, and away from the city, so here they were.

“Steve.” He began, like any other inconsequential conversation. Steve hummed an assent, signaling he was listening. “We need to talk.”

Steve looked out at the water. “We are talking.” He pointed it out calmly, but Bucky could tell he had already caught on to Bucky’s purpose.

Bucky blew out a breath. “We need to talk about how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.”  His voice was clipped and quick, and he took a misstep before picking up his pace slightly. Bucky reached out and caught him by the arm, effectively wheeling him around so he came to a stop in front of Bucky.

Steve looked at Bucky and smiled wanly, humoring Bucky as he raised an eyebrow.

“Bucky…” He started, but Bucky cut him off.

“Steve. I know I can’t remember some things, but I sure as hell remember what you look like when you try to lie.”

He caught a flash of fear behind Steve’s eyes as he said that, and felt horrible for dragging him out like this. But this wasn’t getting any better. This needed to get out.

Steve shook his head vehemently, saying, “Bucky, I’m fine. Really.”

He smiled again, but this time Bucky could see the blatant pain underneath.

“Steve,” Bucky started, intent on arguing, but Steve beat him to the punch.

“Seriously,” Steve reached his free hand up to brush an errant piece of Bucky’s hair back, “You don’t have to worry about me, I’m fine. I’m completely fine.” He let his hand settle on Bucky’s shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth absently.

Bucky didn’t say anything, fingers still loosely gripping onto Steve’s forearm.

“Bucky, I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.” Steve repeated, and then more earnestly, “I’m fine.”

Still, Bucky didn’t say anything, simply watched, dumbstruck, as Steve doubled down, “I’m fine, Buck. I’m fine. It’s okay, I’m fine.”

Bucky watched as Steve got stuck in a loop, his seams finally starting to splinter as he kept promising, kept trying.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Steve’s voice cracked, and his hand started to shake where he still had it on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky had no words. Instead, he just pulled Steve into his chest, holding him tightly as Steve started shuddering, gasping out, “I’m fine. I’m _fine_. _I’m fine_.”

*

Bucky was surprised he somehow finally convinced Steve to take it easy for a bit. A vacation, of sorts, like Sam had suggested.

Sam and Bucky took up some of the slack of going out, sometimes with Nakia, sometimes with the Dora Milaje. Sometimes, even with T’Challa. Those were becoming more frequent. Outings to neighboring countries, and further, when the King asked for it. Bucky had no problem going, even if he was only there for back-up support, hanging in the shadows with Okoye until needed.

Steve, predictably, had protested at first. Loudly. Angrily.

It had taken a few tense conversations, and finally one terrifying meeting with T’Challa, before Steve was finally placated enough to agree to be on retainer. He would still go out, and had gone, if they needed more than the usual. So far, it hadn’t become an issue.

Bucky still trusted Steve with his life. He just didn’t trust Steve with his own.

The caveat had been that Steve needed to do some form of therapy to work out his issues, and T’Challa had personally offered him use of any one of the highly decorated doctors available in Wakanda. That had been a fresh new hell, and Bucky knew Steve was having a hard time agreeing with this condition, when he still wouldn’t admit that he needed help.

At least now Steve wasn’t shutting down completely when the subject came up.

*

Bucky was tired when he finally came back home.

When had he started thinking of Wakanda as home? This little futuristic apartment he shared with Steve. And Sam, essentially. Steve always had someone with him these days. Today, it had been Sam while Bucky was away.

When Bucky walked in, Sam was sitting on the couch and there was a holographic display of a game with bright colors.

“Hello honey. I’m home.”

Sam didn’t even look up before retorting, “Damn cat keeps dragging in dead rodents.”

Bucky chuckled, “Careful there. That’s no way to talk about a king.”

Sam cracked a grin at that one and finally looked up, taking in Bucky’s posture and worn suit. “Everything all good?”

Bucky nodded as he started disassembling his tactical weapons and gear and putting them away in their dedicated closet.  

“Just long.” He slid his boots off, kicking them into the closet.

Bucky paused at the end of the couch.

“How is he today?”

Sam looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You know how he gets. Hasn’t come out today, and I don’t think he’s eaten anything in a while. Said his usual polite ‘thank yous’ when I brought him some food earlier, but I don’t think he’s touched it yet.”

“Polite?”

Sam smirked, caught out. “He may have been a little more snappish today. For Steve. Nothing I can’t handle though.”

Bucky’s mouth grew into tight smile. He knew that Sam was one of the few people Steve could tolerate nowadays. Not that Sam ever took it lying down. Bucky would never admit it out loud, but Sam was better than Bucky at giving as good as he got, and forcing Steve to take the reprimand from going too far. 

“Thanks for keeping an eye on him.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “He’s not a child.”

“No, but he’s angry. And he’s got stupid ideas about what to do with that anger.” Bucky retorted, feeling defensive.

Sam picked up on it, quick as ever, and dropped the casual act. “I know. But coddling him isn’t going to help. Have you talked to him about—”

“Not yet.” Bucky cut him off. Then he dragged a hand down his face. “Not yet.” He repeated quietly.

“Don’t leave it too long, White Wolf.”

Bucky glared at Sam who put on an innocent face turned back around, ending the conversation.

Bucky was tired as he moved through the hallway. It really had been a long day and he was relieved to be back home. Opening the door to their room, Bucky stopped short.

Steve was painting.

It really shouldn’t have been that surprising; it was one of the new things that the therapist had suggested Steve try. And Steve being Steve, so stubborn still, wanting to prove that he was fine, had readily agreed, probably out of spite.

Maybe that was what the therapist was aiming for, now that Bucky thought about it.

But the therapist probably hadn’t expected Steve to absolutely destroy the art he created. The canvases were ripped in places where dark paints had overlapped on each other. There was hardly any white left, everything obliterated by dark paint. Red paint bled from underneath the black, and Bucky knew it had been an intentional decision to use the closest color to blood. It was horrible, and spoke of something rotting and cold, and Bucky hated it. It was nothing like the delicate and precise sketches Steve used to draw in over-stuffed leafed books. Those drawings were warm and comforting and showed everyone just what Steve felt.

Though, he supposed, so did these paintings.

Steve himself was hunched over a canvas on the floor, and was painting long, broad strokes of grey paint across dried black. He had a few specks of paint on his face, a small streak of it sinking into his beard— now grown way past stubble. His clothes were old, threadbare things that bore evidence of past art. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and the circles under his eyes were far more pronounced than Bucky had last seen them. He clearly hadn’t been sleeping much while Bucky had been away.

“You look like you need a break.” Bucky spoke quietly from where he stood at the threshold, knowing he wouldn’t startle him, but not wanting to break the tentative atmosphere.

Steve tightened his grip on the paint brush, the only indication he’d heard Bucky.

Bucky took one step inside, shutting the door behind him. “C’mon,” he tried, cajolingly, “I think it needs to dry a bit anyway.”

A shake of the head was all the warning Bucky got before Steve snapped out, “I’m not done.”

Steve twisted slightly, curving into himself more to hide from Bucky, but it had been enough to see that his hands were trembling slightly, and Bucky wondered just how many meals Steve had missed. How many nightmares had kept him up. How many hours he’d spent voluntarily locked in his own mind.

Bucky tried again. “Just a little break, it’s okay.”

“No.” His voice was flat and monotone, and Bucky inwardly sighed. It didn’t usually happen so much with Bucky, but every now and again, he got stuck in his feedback loop. Bucky knew how to break it, had figured it out early on, but he wished he didn’t have to resort to it.

Straightening his shoulders, he pulled himself taller, more formidable and let his tone harden. “Get up. Come here. Now.”

His words were clipped, and quiet, but the command was clear.

Steve raggedly looked up, meeting Bucky’s gaze finally. He looked utterly exhausted, his shoulders slumping as he blinked slowly. His defenses crumbled around him as he yielded completely, following Bucky’s order, and rolling up to his feet. It looked like a laborious movement that belied stiff muscles, but he easily pushed through it to go to Bucky, tucking his frame down against Bucky’s, and only breathing out in relief when Bucky wrapped his arms around him. He let himself be held, letting the paint brush slip from his fingers to clatter to the floor, splattering paint as it went.

All that rage, all that bitterness, directed mostly at himself, and none of it ever touched Bucky here. That tiredness and hardness always died down to a broken murmur in his arms, nothing but softness creeping in to envelop him. A temporary shield from the threatening darkness. Steve still tested the limits of the fragile hold, but he never tried to win anymore. He didn’t have to.

Bucky wondered if that meant it was up to him to help pull Steve back from the dark.

He banished the thought away, knowing that it wouldn’t help him now to dwell on it, and instead pressed a kiss to the top of Steve’s head.

“C’mon. Let’s take a break.”

This time, Steve let Bucky lead him over to the couch by the wall, following silently and holding on to Bucky’s hand for guidance. When Bucky sat down on the couch, he expected Steve to follow suit, and was only mildly surprised when instead, he settled himself in between Bucky’s legs, using one as a pillar to lean back on.

Bucky recognized this.

He was still in his tactical suit, and it wasn’t dirty, exactly, but it definitely had the musty smell of a long day of doing hard work. Bucky would have liked a shower, but wasn’t in desperate need of one yet. Bucky wondered if that was why Steve wanted to be so close— to smell him and ground himself.

This time, Steve simply sighed and rubbed his face against Bucky’s knee. Bucky couldn’t help but smile a little when he saw that Steve was essentially scratching his beard with Bucky’s stiffer pants, lithe like a cat, and just as temperamental.

When Steve tilted his face into a different angle, nuzzling right up against Bucky’s crotch, Bucky asked quietly, “Do you need something, there?”

Steve simply nodded, not giving him sass about Bucky’s gentle tone like he normally would. He didn’t usually give up this early in the game, so he must have really been needing some contact. Bucky was happy to provide it, reaching out to smooth Steve’s eyebrows out, and trail his fingers around his cheeks before finally pushing against his lips. He knew that wasn’t really what Steve wanted, but Steve didn’t hesitate to part his lips and let Bucky slip in. Immediately, Steve let his tongue explore and taste Bucky’s fingers, closing his mouth enough to suck on the two digits.

It was only about a minute of tonguing and exploring before Steve sighed heavily and went limp, letting his mouth grow slack as he leaned bodily against Bucky. Turning his head so he was resting it against Bucky’s thighs, Steve closed his eyes and breathed, looking like he was simply enjoying having something in his mouth. Occasionally he would lick, wetting everything he could, but he seemed happy enough to finally relax.

Bucky let him rest there, ignoring the growing drool that inevitably started to cover his hand. He needed this peace too, even though he knew it was a fragile thing that could be strained tonight.

After a couple of quiet moments, the two of them just breathing together, Bucky slipped his fingers out, moving to unbuckle his pants. Steve stiffened and gave a quiet whine at the loss, but Bucky shushed him gently.

“It’s okay. I’m just trading out for something better.” He couldn’t help quirking a grin at that as he opted to just slide the belt off completely. Steve tipped his head back to watch quietly. The fact that he didn’t remark on Bucky’s innuendo was a little concerning, but not too worrisome. So Bucky took out his cock.

Steve unconsciously leaned forward, his mouth parting automatically, his eyes staring single-mindedly in front of him. Bucky fed his cock to Steve without preamble, letting Steve take the lead for a moment. Like with Bucky’s fingers, he began to suck, lick, and explore.

It wasn’t so much geared to get Bucky hard, though that was the inevitable outcome. Soon enough, Steve slowed his attention down, having less room to work with easily, and less energy to keep it up. He once again relaxed, letting his jaw grow slack again, seemingly resolved to be a cock-warmer.

Bucky didn’t mind. It didn’t happen that often, but he was happy enough that Steve was allowing himself to rest, even for a moment. So Bucky let him steal the peace where he could. This time, though, Bucky started to talk, telling him about his day. He made sure to stick to things that didn’t require an answer or comment. Mostly it was just talking to talk. It was soothing and Bucky was relaxing himself, despite the simmer of arousal.

He wasn’t worried about going soft, because Steve was still occasionally using his tongue to lick, or would close his mouth to suck every now and again. The stimulation was perfectly enough for Bucky, not urgent, but a nice easy excitement.

It didn’t take long, however, to realize that this easy thing wasn’t enough. It had become a sort of shorthand, so Bucky knew the brush of teeth along his cock was a silent plea for more.

Bucky obliged, unable to deny Steve what he needed.

Reaching for the belt he had taken off earlier, Bucky stroked through Steve’s hair a couple times before sliding a hand down Steve’s arm. He exerted a little pressure, and was pleased when Steve complied without hesitation, letting Bucky guide his arm behind him and keeping it there when Bucky did the same to the other arm. Using the belt, Bucky tied his wrists together, cinching it snuggly, but loose enough that he wasn’t going to worry about cutting off blood flow. It wasn’t going to hold Steve if he didn’t want to be held, but it served as a reminder to stay where Bucky put him.

Steve was malleable as Bucky worked, even participating a little more as he started swallowing more, changing his idle exploration into more deliberate teasing.

When Bucky straightened up, he couldn’t help the slight jerk of his hips, going a little deeper into Steve’s mouth, hearing him huff around the sudden invasion. Carding his fingers through Steve’s hair by way of apology, Bucky let Steve settle once again before starting to rock into his mouth a little bit. Steve hummed and let his mouth grow slack again as Bucky became more insistent, rocking more and more until he was lazily fucking his face. He kept the rhythm slow and gentle, savoring it.

But he couldn’t draw it out forever.

Bracing himself, Bucky drew in a big breath, and on one of his slow slides in, he murmured, “God, Steve. Look at you. You don’t even know how good you’re being.”

Bucky anticipated the moment that Steve balked and tried to draw off, gearing up to argue, and Bucky tightened his grip, not allowing the escape. The sudden block of movement caused Steve to choke for a moment when he couldn’t lean back, but he quickly recovered. He breathed out hard through his nose, part annoyance, part adrenaline, and Bucky almost felt bad.

But he knew he had to get them both through tonight, one way or another. So he started with praises.

“You look so beautiful right now. Mouth pretty, all stretched out around my cock. You love this, don’t you?”

Again, Steve tried to toss his head in disagreement, his body tensing up as he shook his head as much as he could in Bucky’s ironclad grip. For all his struggling, though, his hands remained clasped together behind his back.

That didn’t stop him from trying again and again as Bucky whispered sweet things to him.

“I love you so much, Steve. You’re such an incredible man, and I can’t believe you’re mine.” Steve was continuously choking by now, as each time he tried to pull off to contradict Bucky’s words, Bucky just brought him back down onto his cock, each motion growing rougher and rougher as Steve struggled. Bucky let it play out, only escalating as much as Steve fought.

Bucky knew that Steve was not in a good headspace to hear these things. Steve was abrasive and had built up walls, clinging to his stubbornness. But that was precisely why Steve had to hear these things anyway, no matter how much he didn’t believe them. Bucky was the only one who could soothe the hard edges, who was invited in, who could persuade Steve to just be. It wasn’t easy, but he could do it. He _would_ do it.

He murmured his love, his joy, his wishes to Steve, both hands on either side of Steve’s head now. His thumbs rubbed comfortingly against his temples, a small placating movement that Steve probably couldn’t register yet.

“Easy, Steve. Stop fighting.” The words predictably ruffled Steve into doing the opposite, so he continued to rub soothingly until Steve finally gave a pause, the barest hesitation.

Taking his cue, Bucky changed from holding Steve still, to pulling him in deeper watching as Steve tensed up, adjusting to Bucky cock suddenly filling his throat. Steve’s eyes were wide open and he tried to look up at Bucky, but was prohibited by Bucky’s grip. He twitched and shuddered, his hints of earlier surrender fading away as he tried to jerk back from Bucky’s hold, but Bucky kept him there for a moment longer, willing him to relax. It took almost a minute before Steve gave ground again, his tension easing just slightly, before Bucky started pulling him off just enough to stay in Steve’s mouth. Instead of immediately continuing his fight, Steve took the opportunity to breathe raggedly, short pants interspersed by the rough clearing of his throat.

“There you go. Just take it easy. Breathe.” Bucky gave him just enough time to breathe deeply before pulling him back in, filling his throat completely.

Steve was better prepared this time and relaxed his throat, though he still gave a token bit of resistance when Bucky placed his hand delicately on the back of his head as a reminder to stay down. Steve tolerated it for a few seconds before he started to struggle again, his eyes watering as he blinked hard when Bucky didn’t let him up.

“Stop, Steve. You’re done fighting. You’re done.”

That finally garnered a strangled whimper from Steve as he finally sagged against him, the fight bleeding out quickly. Bucky relented and let Steve pull off all the way to gasp for air. He relaxed his hold on Steve’s head, keeping his hands there, but not asking, just waiting. Steve shivered, his harsh breaths the loudest thing in the room, and he tipped his head to the side so that he could lean his head on Bucky’s thigh. Bucky let him, keeping his hands tangled in Steve’s overgrown hair, but still waiting. He let the expectation hang in the air while Steve worked up the courage.

It took a few minutes of calming down before Steve was loose and relaxed. He didn’t try to speak, knowing he wasn’t allowed yet, and Bucky could feel pride at the learned lesson. Instead, he just breathed deeply, his eyes shut, and he looked almost peaceful. Only the crease between his eyebrows showed Bucky that he wasn’t quite there yet. Bucky changed his grip to again rub his thumb against Steve’s temple, and this time, Steve opened his eyes in response, tilting his head up to look at Bucky.

Bucky didn’t stop him. Steve looked wrecked, his eyes betraying his desperation. Bucky guessed he just needed one last push before he could finally allow himself a true rest, but this time he was leaving it up to Steve. It was probably cruel, letting this drag on longer than needed, but Bucky knew it was far more effective in the long run if Steve was the one to initiate this last stand.

Steve blinked heavily and straightened up, eyes still locked onto Bucky’s. This time, he leaned forward and took all of Bucky down his throat on his own, keeping himself there and swallowing around him.

The swell of pride threatened to choke Bucky, but he tampered it down as he pet Steve, smoothing his hair back as Steve clearly struggled to hold himself still.

“There you are. So good.” Bucky reached further down to feel Steve’s throat contracting, the fight against instinct making it hard for Steve to relax. With the tip of his fingers, Bucky trailed along Steve’s throat, outlining his own dick.

“God, you are perfect Steve. So fucking _perfect_.” His voice cracked, achingly honest, and it was the last straw for Steve.

Steve kept shuddering, his last defenses utterly crumbling, and then he was desperately crying and trying not to cry.

When Steve began to sway a little bit, Bucky exerted a little pressure and helped Steve pull back. Immediately, Steve started gasping again, coughing, and Bucky wiped off the excess saliva dripping off of his lips. Steve paid him no mind and pushed forward towards Bucky, aiming to swallow him down again, but Bucky held him back.

“Hey, easy, it’s okay. Just wait a moment, yeah?”

Steve was constantly shuddering and still leaning against Bucky’s hand, though with noticeably less force. Bucky pushed him gently away, giving him room to calm down and catch his breath. With the space between them, Bucky looked down and noticed that Steve must have come at some point: the front of his pants was soaked.

Using his foot, he nudged at Steve’s crotch and watched him shiver as he slid his eyes closed. His mouth was open, panting, and his lips were shiny with spit. The tear tracks on his cheeks were smeared and almost blended in with sweat. When Bucky nudged him again, Steve whimpered and flinched, oversensitive.

Bucky nodded to himself. “Yeah, okay. C’mere.”

Steve kept his eyes closed and pushed in blindly. Bucky guided him home and Steve took him in his mouth again, all the way down to the root without hesitation.

Bucky finally let himself go, letting Steve pull an orgasm out as he swallowed convulsively around him. He bent over Steve, coming down his throat, and enjoying the little bit of pleasure, however fleeting it was for tonight. It hurt a little bit when Steve kept sucking, milking Bucky, but he didn’t move until he was soft enough to slip out. By that point, Steve had slumped completely and was crying freely. Bucky hated hearing those horrible shuddered gasps, and reached down to haul him up and into his arms.

Bucky manhandled Steve into a comfortable position and held him through his outburst. “Shh, Stevie, it’s okay. I’m here.” He stroked Steve’s back and face, wiping away the tears that formed.

Shivering, Steve tried to argue, croaking out, “No, no…no, no—”

 “Shh, it’s over. You’re done. It’s okay, you’re okay.” Bucky just kept going, reassuring him until Steve cried himself out, unable to stop the blanket of calm after a rough ordeal.

The quiet that followed was exhausting.

“You’re okay,” Bucky repeated, wondering if he said it enough times, it might come true. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

Steve didn’t answer, but Bucky didn’t think he would. Standing up precariously, Bucky helped Steve stagger to the bed. Steve was practically dead on his feet, but Bucky managed to push him down onto the bed and tuck him in, not hesitating to crawl in after him when Steve reached back for him. Bucky fitted himself against Steve’s back and caught Steve’s hand when he started patting behind himself to look for Bucky.

Finally settled, the two of them breathed together; the practice of matching his breaths to Steve’s was an old habit he remembered from before the war, and one he liked to indulge in nowadays.

It was long while before he heard Steve murmur, “Thank you.”

Bucky couldn’t speak, not when the wrong words wanted to come out and he couldn’t risk it. He wanted to tell him it was okay, that this would get better, that it was an honor, that he couldn’t do this anymore, that he loved him, that T’Challa wanted to use Bucky for more missions, that he didn’t know what to do, that he wanted to help him forever, that he loved him, that he loved him, that _he loved him—_

The words got stuck in his throat.

Instead, Bucky kissed the back of Steve’s neck, tacky with dried sweat, and felt the moment that Steve passed out.

Instead, Bucky tried not to think.

Instead, Bucky pulled Steve in closer, needing to feel his heart beat against his chest.

Instead, Bucky wondered how much longer Steve could go on living this bitter life.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


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